


Gracious

by diplomaticPathologist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Derse and Prospit, Feuding Kingdoms, M/M, More Relationship and Character Tags to Come, Multi, Past Political Struggles, Past Romances ooh, Romance, The Sufferer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diplomaticPathologist/pseuds/diplomaticPathologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider is a Knight of the realm of Derse, comparable to none in his skills with a blade. John Egbert is a young regent of the realm of Prospit, and chances upon Strider in the forest one day, stumbling upon his wounded body. Romance and adventures ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Knight's Plight

“Your Grace! Are you quite sure that this is the way the beast went? If you were to be injured upon this terrain…” cried a soft voice. From your vantage point, nothing can be seen.

A sneer replied. “He can go any godsdamned way he pleases, leave the smarmy bastard alone. If some mishap befalls him, it’s his own fucking fault.”

“Gentlemen! Have no fear!” You can hear the clap on the shoulder each man is gifted with. “Commander in Chief Vantas, I thank you for your input, but I am perfectly capable of defending myself! And Commodore Nitram? I know exactly where I am going, and just how treacherous this terrain is. My youth was spent in these slopes! I am as home as a mermaid in the ports of Light and Rain!” You shift to see this man better, from behind the shield of foliage. A feeble hand reaches up to brush away the leaves draped on your leather pauldrons.

The cheerful man is tall, graced with a wild outburst of black hair, the tips of which fall into his rich, blue eyes. They are mirthful, and his bared teeth are large at the front, giving him a good-natured and rather mischievous visage. His companions, Vantas and Nitram, stand parallel at his side, one quite short with his back turned to you, with a shock of white hair. The other is with multiple braces and ligatures upon his lower limbs. The braced man has a complexion like that of creamed coffee, and his soft brown eyes are situated beneath concerned brows.

The man with white hair whirls, his curved blade swinging ‘round with him. Despite his hair colour, he is incredibly youthful. He has blazing red eyes, nearly the same shade as your own. “It’s gone, and never to be seen again. Damn the beast; it probably was alerted by your foolish footfalls.” He shrugs, and turns to leave.

The blue-eyed man, the cheerful one, looks back at the pale one as he scrambles back up the slope, grasping for roots to aid his ascent. He laughs; his hands are placed firmly but playfully on his hips. One gloved hand rests just above his holstered hammer, the ridiculous colours nearly blinding you. If you were not bleeding out already you’d have a hernia just from the optic clashes of blue and pink and red and yellow and green alone. His deep blue cloak swirls around his ankles as he turns and bounds over the fallen trees and underbrush, traversing in the complete opposite of his comrade. The braced man just stands and watches the cheerful man tread closer and closer to your hiding space.

You are careful not to breathe too loudly, lest they hear and come investigate. You are too weak to run, and too tired to fight. Your blade, Caledfwlch, glints familiarly just a few feet from your upturned palm. Your left hand is pressed into your side, attempting to staunch the flow of your lifeblood. It seeps thickly past your fingers, staining the soft moss upon which you rest, propped up against an oak. Each breath is shallower than the one that precedes it, and the blue-eyed man and his two companions are drawing nearer.

His knees are in your line of sight, but he hasn’t seen you yet, the substantial brush concealing you entirely. From your slumped position, you can see his fine boots, polished to perfection.

Then, a cough escapes your lips, trickling up through your throat, and blood gushes from your clenched side.

The blue-eyed man is upon you in a second, his face slipping into a pallid mask when he sights the blood. His hands part the brush easily, and he signals with a flick of the wrist for his companions to join him.

“Holy Mother of the Void, Egbert. That is one horrendous wound,” breathes the white-haired man. The colour of his eyes matches the crimson crest upon his breastplate. Egbert, the blue-eyed man, grimaces. He extends a palm to you. You shrink back instinctively, unwilling to be harmed any further. He kneels by your side, pushing aside your curtain of plants and branches. Egbert slowly draws your hand way from your side to inspect the severity of the wound. The pulse of the blood quickens.

“This is a fairly deep wound, my friend. What say you if we take you back with us, and we’ll fix you up! I’m afraid my medic isn’t able to perform his abilities here… But we’ll get you back into working condition,” he says, forcing enthusiasm and good intention into his words. You are unable to respond, as your mouth has become akin to the desert that surrounds your home. Instead, you nod sluggishly. He grins, pleased with your silent answer.

****

The trip back to Egbert’s palace was bumpy, painful, and absolutely disastrous.

Did you say palace? Why indeed you did; he lives in a _palace_. As Vantas explained to you (Vantas being the white-haired man), Egbert was “the heir to a huge-ass fortune and all its fortuitous attributes”, which, apparently, involved a palace. He explained this from beside you, his grey steed matching pace to Egbert’s. Nitram trailed behind, grateful for the minimal casualties.

After some debate upon how they would transport you back, Egbert had decided to have Nitram fetch the horses, and then sling you over the back of one. He leaped on behind you, shifting you until your wounded flank was against his stomach. The wound had been hastily bandaged in a cloth, though the blood was relentless in its evacuation from your body. You jerked and whimpered your way to Egbert’s palace, sharp jolts of pain flashing through your left side each time a hoof fell. It would have been so much more manageable if he didn’t continually shoot you sympathetic looks every time you uttered a sound.

The palace looms ahead of you, its bright yellow tone an affront to Nature herself. Manservants bustled about the premises, attending to their individual duties and still looked cheerful while performing them. It is a stark contrast to your own home, where everything is dismal and dreary and no one smiles benevolently at anyone. When they sight you, however, in all of your bloodstained and anemic glory, a distressed look comes upon their faces. They rush to Egbert’s side, casting inquisitive looks to your wounded state. By now, sound is beginning to fade in and out, and the brightness of your surroundings is becoming too much for your embittered retinas to handle.

You close your eyes and drift out of Egbert’s hold, slipping off the horse’s broad shoulders, and fall to the yielding ground.


	2. The Convalescing Knight

When you awake, you are presented with the scowling face of Karkat Vantas, friend, medic, and Commander in Chief to the prince and regent of Prospit. This is what he had told you before that godsforsaken tumultuous ride, helping lift you up onto that godsforsaken equine beast. He stands, wiping his hands on a white cloth. You turn your head you’re your cheek can rest upon the cool pillow. You can see a collection of bloody rags and implements upon a tray. With a silent look you question Vantas for more information. He sighs, and goes to drop the rags into a chute in the wall. 

Sunlight streams through an open window on your right, and a light breeze carries the soothing scent of citrus into your nostrils. The room you are in is simple, white and bright, and is sparingly furnished with pale pieces. You stare at the swaying curtains. Vantas than addresses you sharply, breaking your reverie.

“You do know that you had a chunk of blade in your side right? I had to extract it, clean off all the disgusting plasma leakage, and _then_ sow you up.” He makes it sound like it was your fault. There is something shiny flashing belligerently in his palm. “Do you remember how this got lodged in your left external oblique muscle? I’ve managed to heal the internal damage, but because I consider you to be an utter imbecile I left the stitches,” he continues. Is this how he is with everyone? You struggle to sit up, but with much tribulation you manage. “You’re welcome”, he snorts. You only nod in acknowledgment. 

The pain is only a small throb now, and the tension on the stitches keeps you tethered. He is waving the section of wrought metal under your nose to snap you back to reality. You pluck it from his loose grasp. It is about the length of your palm, and its breadth is only two fingers worth. Delicate curlicues encase the piece, which is tapered to a sharp point, though it is not a blade. They don’t illustrate anything in particular, but are deeply symbolic. You know exactly who this belongs to, and just what they are capable of.

“So? Anything?” the short man demands. He sits himself down on the edge of your bed, nudging your swaddled feet aside. You frown petulantly, but allow him to be seated. You are about to open your mouth and answer, when the engraved door swings open. 

The blue-eyed man, Egbert, sweeps in. His clothing is a bright blue, nearly the same shade as his irises, though it is simple. A yellow sash holds in the sides of his tunic, aligning his slim figure. He now wears golden rectangular frames over his eyes, and the glass lenses are clear. He smiles widely when he sees you, and it seems genuine. He doesn’t remind you at all of anyone you knew, or of anyone you were allowed to know, for that matter. 

“Good! You are awake! After Karkat showed me this curious piece…” he pauses, gesturing to the section of metal now in the tight grip of your palm. “I was worried.” His eyebrows draw up at this statement, as if his words and intentions were legitimate. He looks away from you.

“Thank you.” The words escape your lips before you can restrain them. Vantas looks confused, but Egbert is smiling once more, and he nods sagely, now gazing out the open window. Having already betrayed yourself, you venture more syllables.

“I suppose you’ll want to know my tale, and how I came to be in your borders. But, seeing as this was just extracted from my bleak muscle or whatever it was—” Vantas cuts you off with a snarl of “ _Oblique_ , you twit!” as you wave about the needle tip limply. "I'm afraid I won't be completely coherent until I achieve more rest," you say, rasping the words out through your dry throat. You need them to leave, _you_ need to leave, to escape. You drop the piece onto your lap, not truly believing that is was lodged in your side, and that such a simple piece of ore could cause you so much pain and blood loss. You slump backwards into the proliferous pillows, immersing yourself in the soft embrace of down and cotton. Egbert sends Vantas a knowing look, and they both retreat from your room, so that you may slumber in peace. 

****

When you awake once more, it is the dead of night. Your window has been closed, and a single flame trapped in a steel lantern replaces Vantas’ medical implements. You lift it up as you rise from your bed, unwilling to be still any more. You feel as if your limbs would drop to the ground should they be immobile for a second longer. 

On a stool, unbeknownst to you before, rests a pile of cloth. Upon further inspection, the cloth reveals itself to be a light tunic, knee length trousers, and a sort of wraparound robe, which comes halfway down your thighs. You had to place the lantern down on the ground to pull on these garments. The flickering light casts odd shapes and winds around your bare ankles. It is not cold here, you notice. Bare feet are quite comfortable! 

When you had pulled the tunic over your head, mussing your hair, nothing but a slight twinge reminded you of your recent injury. You are grateful to Vantas, you truly are; he is a master in his trade. You’ve had wounds such as this one before, from failed spars and tussles with fellow court members… You will admit none of your other scars are quite like this one. It is not a cicatrix you will wear with pride, though it is the most prominent. 

You exit your room, already bored of its plain and well-meaning walls. You need to see where you are.  
So you snatch up the lantern and slip out of the door. You find yourself in an ornate hallway, surrounded with intricate carvings, and the light from the flame casts everything in a homely golden sheen. At the end of the hall, not far from you, a young man staggers in your direction. 

Creeping closer, he has scarlet eyes heavily underscored with shadows, and his cheeks are prickly with the early makings of a blond beard. His stance is loose but ready, as if he could whirl from his weakened and depleted state into a wrathful storm; his eyes blazing in the dark, illuminated by a single flame. You outstretch a hand to calm him, to placate him, and your reflection reaches back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, as an amateur writer, I appreciate it!  
> I apologize for the short chapter.


	3. The Knight's Story

You continue to stumble your way through the halls, each step stronger than the last as you become used to walking once more. The simple flame cannot hold the darkness at bay for much longer; already it is threatening to go out. You cannot abide the dark. It means to devour you. 

You quicken your steps, knowing not your direction. All you can comprehend now is the ache for freedom. These golden walls are oppressive, and they cage you in just as they did at home. You are a bird with a damaged wing, with no way to leave. You are stuck in the gilded labyrinth.

Finally, the candle snuffs out. You freeze in your steps, and you cannot see your feet or hands or nose. The clatter of the now useless lantern falling to the ground seals your fate. You are lost in the Void, lost in the chilled clutches of Night herself. You are calm… Until a hand touches your shoulder. 

"Dave. Dave, what are you doing?" a soft, chiming voice says. Her tone is gently reprimanding, and you can't help but surge forward breaking out into a run to be rid of the horrid voice, reluctant to hear anything more. 

"David, cease this foolishness. Return to me. Return to home," she continues, her voice all around, soaking in through your ears and intoxicating your brain. 

She _isn't_ here, she _can't_ be, she just _can't_. You won't allow it. 

Your bare feet slap savagely against the cool floor of the never ending hallway, and you take many a turn. Outstretching your left hand as a guide, you wind deeper and deeper into the bowels of the labyrinth. The voice is a raucous clamour now, reverberating in your eardrums and in your bones. You keep running, trying to escape it. But you can't escape _her_. The voice chants a bellicose crescendo.

The voice suddenly disperses as your hand comes into contact with a wooden door, the first one you've felt for miles. It is akin to the door you left behind, back in your safe, monotonous room. You cannot see anything, but you suppose it would not be detrimental to try it.

You fumble to find the doorknob, and twist it as quickly as you can, lurching in. Your heart is racing, pounding, thumping, attempting to break free of its osseous confines. The stitches on your side seem to pulsate, matching your galloping palpitations. 

There is light in this room. It is wonderful, and you are in awe of the simple light being cast by torches upon the ground. The room appears to be a bedchamber, with a grand bed situated in the center of the furthest wall, piled with soft and puffy blue bed coverings. Gauzy curtains frame gigantic windows, opened to reveal the blemished night sky. A sliver of the moon shines down upon the clean floor. A sturdy, dark-grained table dominates most of the room, with a scattering of mismatched chairs 'round it. The walls are bare, save for the torches, and a single timepiece, hung on the wall to your right.

It is golden, like everything in this palace, but the time face does not betray any inklings of time or anything of the ilk. It simply has two words inscribed upon it in a slanted script; 'just', and 'heroic'. There is no needle to point to either of the inscriptions. It frame is immaculate in its design, all swirls and ridges and a pair of serpentine figureheads on either side. You are intrigued by this piece, and move to inspect it further, forgetting the terrors of the hall outside.

Moving into the light, you can see more clearly the clothes that you have been gifted with. The trousers are a pale brown, and both the tunic and long sleeved robe are a pale gold, the shade varying in the light of the torches. You are pleased by this, and you smile lightly, and make a small satisfied noise. 

“You are awake!” calls a voice.

You reel about, and Egbert is sitting amongst the piles of bed coverings, having flipped over half of them just to be able to see you. His black hair is ruffled beyond repair, and his blue eyes are still drowsy with sleep. You take a step back, not sure what to do. 

"Good evening to you, Prince Egbert," you manage, unwilling to be caught acting impolite. He stares intensely at you, and he chuckles and gestures to the clock on the wall.

"Good morning more like," he says enthusiastically, "And please, just call me John. It's rather stiff to be continually called 'Egbert', now isn't it? And drop the title, while you’re at it." He winks after this, in a way that is not even close to rakish. 

You can only nod in return. Wait a moment. Did he just read the unhelpful clock face? No numbers can be seen by you, despite your intense scrutinizing. He sees your confusion and elaborates, after a yawn stretches his mouth wide, baring his uneven teeth and pink tongue. A hand comes up to bat at the corner of his mouth for manner's sake.

"It's a magic clock." 

As if that explains everything. You raise a brow, shifting your stance to face him fully. He rolls up and out of his bed, tugging on a robe similar to yours, though this one had no sleeves to speak of. His bare feet pad over to stand at your side.

"What I mean to say is that it is enchanted. It reads only for its intended, and upon the moment of their passing, declares that status to the world. One of the words will fade upon my own demise, telling everyone whether or not my death was 'just' or 'heroic',” he explains with a vague gesture of the wrist, “Just as it did with my father.”

“I had heard… How long ago was that?” you say, forcing sympathy into your tone. Gods, you can’t even remember this man’s history, and this drivel has been stuffed in your cranium for your entire life. He smiles at you wistfully, ignorant of your lack of knowledge.

“Oh, years ago. Worry not,” he says, rather conversationally. He gestures to the table and sits down with a sigh. You follow his lead, but place yourself across from him. He looks you straight in the eye, his gaze piercing through you. 

“So, let us get down to the nitty-gritty, if you please. Your name?” he asks. You make no attempt to evade his gaze when you say, “Strider. Dave Strider, the First Knight and Protector of the Dertian Queen.”

His face lifts when the recognition sets in, and he smiles at you. 

“I remember you! As children, you recall? Our parents would have us play, when they would hold a joint court. You and your... sister, correct? Rose, I believe her name to be,” he says jovially. You nod, though you can’t recall him from the murky muddle of your past. Now that you reflect upon it, you can remember the golden halls and your indignation from being left alone by your parents with none but an austere woman with painted black lips and a handful of other children, primarily from Prospit. The only Dertian youth there were your sister and you. The woman, you suppose to be the nursemaid to the royals, would chastise you on your manners and the state of your footwear as you tracked mud through the sunny alcoves and hallways. You can’t quite place this buck-toothed, cheerful man in your past, but you do not doubt his words.

But you have had enough of this man and his reminiscing. She is going to be furious with you once you get back, and you are loathe to begin to even imagine what hurts her wrath will inflict. You must return now, lest her anger grow each second more that you are away. You look down as Egbert says, “I remember you as well… Your skills with a sword are renowned throughout the two kingdoms. I couldn’t quite place you the first I laid eyes on you, but now I see!”

A few seconds pass, filled with naught but silence before he finally speaks once more. “Look Dave, I’d like to help you, and I’m rather curious about what had happened… Can you help me out a little bit?” He jumps up and strides over to his bed, and ruffles around under the covers for a moment, before reappearing, triumphant, with the needle tip in his fist. He… Slept with that in his bed? He took it from your room and slept with it in his bed? What kind of man is this Egbert? You give him a puzzled look. He looks sheepish, flushing just a slight, but clears his throat and plunks himself down to sit next to you, this time. “I didn’t want to lose it.” He gingerly puts down the needle tip in front of you, and asks, “Any idea where this came from?”

You nod, compliant to his wishes. Your hands are gripping the edges of your seat, fingernails gouging into the soft wood. 

“It belongs to my sister. It is not a blade… It’s a needle’s tip. It’s _her_ needle’s tip.” You look up at him as the words leave your mouth, tumbling softly upon their exit. His eyebrows are pulled up like the arms of a puppet being led on a string. 

“Why? Why would she do such a thing? I don’t think the Queen of Derse is one to fly into a rage, I mean, she sounds so calm and collected all the time, from my source—“ he says, forcefully cutting his own self off with a clack of the teeth. Your head swings up, eyes beseeching answers. 

“You are spying on my sister?”

Egbert looks abashed, and tugs at his collar uncomfortably. “Uh, what I m-meant to say was…” he stammers. “Shit, I apologize. Yes, I do have an agent within the walls of Derse, but he is solely there for the purpose of discovering the Queen’s intentions of war, should they arise! Not to discover state secrets!” He waves his hands frantically to reassure you. He looks so ridiculous, you splutter out a laugh, just a small one, despite this treasonous offense being held against your own kin. He looks appeased at your reaction, and grins along with you. 

“I am serious, though. Do you believe me?” he asks innocently, looking up through dark lashes. 

You turn stone faced once more, and say, “I suppose. And could… Now that you are awake… Could you now allow me to leave? I must return; I am healed and mobile, and there is no way in hell I’ll give up any Dertian secrets— I’m no use to you.” 

John shakes his head slowly. “I’m afraid my friend, I don’t understand. Why would you want leave?”

You reiterate what you had said before. He shakes his head once more, requesting your silence.

“Dave. Look here… I know. I know what goes on in her court, and just how isolated and controlled everything is. I mean, she never allows you outside to even talk a walk around the garden, Dave!” he cries, a hand now clasped to your shoulder. You freeze, anger running white hot through your veins.

“What? How in Time’s name do you know _that_?! If you claim to know as much as you do, then you’d know first off that the Queen does not keep me prisoner, nay, I am her Protector! If she wishes to stay inside and mope she may as well be safe! And… And… And,” you spit, unable to finish your sentence, weakly falling silent and glaring. Egbert looks _sorry_ for you, eyes brimmed with pity.

“Dave. Please be honest.”

You exhale, and scramble to pull the correct words to your lips. “Alright, I’ll explain, and then I will go.” Egbert is fine with this. 

“You had heard about my mother’s death, right? Back, oh, five years ago? Right, so, my sister took her death hard, and was essentially left unhinged. She locked herself up in her room, and refused to exit for neither love nor money. I was the only person allowed in; not even our own father was permitted entry by her. I had to bring to her all of her meals, and I tried to persuade her to bathe, to take the crown, and to leave her enclosure. She refused at first, but I eventually coaxed her out,” you explain, calming down marginally. You move your hands to rest on the tabletop, and stretch them out against the cool wood. You focus on them. 

Egbert is quiet, so you go on.

“My sister… Got a little paranoid afterwards. She was afraid of us leaving. Of course, my father had abdicated, so now she had to worry about a whole kingdom and everything on top of her bereavement, and my father ditched for a bit, which freaked her out a little and she almost went and locked herself up in her room once more, but I managed to help, but just barely, and I didn’t want to lose her either, so I promised her that I would never leave, and by then Father returned so she was happy again…” you ramble senselessly. 

“So she keeps you on lockdown,” he says, but he doesn’t pose it as a question. 

“Essentially, yes.”

“Right, then, you are not going anywhere,” he says finally. You open your mouth to protest, but he hushes you.

“Dave that is no way for you to live! If I sent you back to her, I’d never be able to forgive myself! I know I can’t force you to stay but… Please, don’t leave,” he pleads, turned to face you in his seat.

You can’t help but acquiesce. His eyes were full of sorrow, and you have a weak spot for shiny, pleading eyes.

“Alright!” he exclaims. His eyes cast back to the foreboding clock once more, and a smile widens his mouth.

“Looks like it is time for breakfast. Do you wish to join me?” he says, standing and pointing to the door.

You stand as well and follow him out of his bedroom, all thoughts of your sister banished from your mind, for now.


	4. The Knight's Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooot   
> Dave eats bread and meets more prominent Prospitians!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has commented and kudoed so far!  
> I appreciate it greatly!!!!!!! :)

Egbert drags you down the gilded halls, though they are not as they were in the quiet hours of the night. No phantom voice haunts you, and you stride as though you have no worries on the heels of the man who saved you. He doesn't lead you far, but you do descend a flight of wrought stairs to reach your destination. Egbert smiles at you once more and swings open two heavyset doors to reveal a room clad in sunlight. 

Two women are sitting on either side of a long table, and they smile at John when he enters the beautiful room. Both share his trait of elongated front teeth. The woman to your left wears a bright red shawl over a plain cyan dress, and her greying hair is cropped close to her head, curling delicately. The other woman possesses wild black hair, wavy and voluminous. Her green eyes twinkle in the sun, matching her blouse. She jumps up to greet Egbert and you, great brown boots clunking gracelessly on the floor. 

"Good morning! I’m Jade! My mother, over there, she’s Lady Jane. If that’s what you want to call her," she exclaims brightly, grasping your hand firmly and pumping it up and down, with much vigour. 

You stammer out a greeting in return before she whirls on John and yanks him into an embrace. They chatter back and forth, but you don't pay attention to their exchange. You instead face the woman who is Egbert's mother, the old Prospitian Queen. 

"Good morning ma'am, you say bowing your head lightly in deference to this powerful lady.

"Good morning to you, young Strider," she says, voice rich and soothing. 

John pipes up, his voice muddled by the contours of Jade’s plentiful bosom. "You know who he is already? But you didn't get back until late last night!" Jade releases him then turning as well to her mother. 

"When you've known his family for as long as I have, you can recognize a Strider from a mile away. Look here, your stance mirrors your fathers, all contained strife and grace. Always ready to fly away at a moment’s notice. But your pale hair, well, that is from your mother. No one has it quite as she did," the Prospitian lady says softly. You gape at her, rather surprised. Your sister had always been envious of your hair colour, as it reminded her of your dear mother. She possessed hair and face like that of your father; golden and slight. 

"Oh, I understand,” says John, gesturing to you at an open spot beside the Lady. You sit, but only after the others returned to their spots. The Lady Jane smiles at you as you sit. Jade and John banter about some odd thing, and from what snatches you grasp it appears to be a rip roaring conversation about meteor showers and the probability of whether or not Jade could break it apart or divert its path with a single bullet. Hypothetically speaking, of course. 

Unfortunately, this leaves you to sit silently next to the equally silent Lady Jane. She looks rather uncomfortable to you as you peek from the corner of your eye. You are saved when the doors swing open once more, as hand servants trail in with carts of breakfast, covered in simple ceramic plates laden with food. Not terribly extravagant, but the smell wafting from the fresh bread is heavenly. Light hands lift in front of you a plate sized cup, filled nearly to the brim with an herbal tea. The steam spirals its way up to the ceiling, tracing breezy designs in the air. The trio of family digs in, commenting on the food and the weather jovially. You soon follow; a hunger you had not noticed before rears its head deep in the pit of your stomach, just when it became confronted with the delicious aroma of bread. 

You could marry this bread, sweet God of the Skies. Fluffy and light, it almost melts on your tongue, with a slightly buttery crust. You want to marry this bread, take it home, and raise a family with it, with two and a half children in tow. 

“How is your breakfast, Dave? You have been sitting with that one piece of bread for quite a while now, are you quite alright?” inquires the Lady to your right. You respond by making a face which you hope relays the sheer pleasure this bread is bringing you. You clear your mouth to speak, faced dead serious.

“May I speak frankly, my Lady? This bread is fucking orgasmic.” 

The Lady Jane laughs, expelling a thick, pleasing sound. It’s a real laugh, unlike those heard in the court. John and Jade look curious as to what is causing their mother so much mirth, and they see your flushed face and chuckle themselves. 

Oh, goodness. If you had uttered something as blatantly vulgar as that in your Queen’s court, well, the consequences would be horribly drastic.   
But.

Why should you care? She is _not_ here, and she can never get you here, for that matter. You settle into this soft feeling of security as you ring out with your own laughter, and you fall into a conversation with the Lady. You tell her your story, with John piping in every once and a while.

“Dave, honestly, when will you tell us how you came to even be in that forest? I’m dying to find out,” says Jade in a conspirational tone of voice, leaning closer comically. A lock of her dark hair falls and dips into her teacup, and John coolly drags it out, dripping lukewarm tea on the tabletop. He snags another piece of bread from a nearly depleted plate. 

“I was intending to ask you about that. How did you get into the depths of the Forest of Though and Flow?" he asks around a mouthful of that gorgeous, gorgeous bread. The obstruction affects his pronunciation only slightly. Lady Jane chastises him on his conduct with a look and a twitch of the forefinger.

"John, what is wrong with you? Usually you ask the guy who's been stabbed WHY he's been stabbed!" cries Jade, hands flying into the air to mime the stabbing action. You wince. 

"I was! I swear I was!" John returns defensively. "But I got hungry!"

Silence settles like a long-lost friend.

Then Jade just bursts out laughing and calls him an asshole, which causes Egbert to look embarrassed, glancing at you, afraid to see your own reaction. Honestly, you couldn’t care less.

"You know I was worried, and I was going to ask after you told me about Rose. We had asked you before, anyways! Oh, never mind all of you. Please tell us now, Dave," he finishes. Oh, well, shit. 

Do you tell them? Tell them everything? You feel like you should. Despite their oddness, you trust these strange people.

Yes. You’ll tell them. It takes you a while to form the words, however. Gods, this is rather awkward.

“Right. The Queen, well she, she has this thing, rather like a tryst… With her lover,” The words fumble from your lips. “Once in a while. Not scheduled, so no one would notice a pattern of absences.” You refuse to look anyone in the eye. 

“I am her protector, her Knight, so I accompany her into the forest of Thought and Flow. I never see who the person is, I’m sorry.” 

Lie. Why did you lie? Maybe you don’t trust them with everything.

“Are you serious? That’s… Crazy,” says Jade. “A lover? From outside of the Dertian court?” 

“Yes. I was certain of that much. They would go off, and I would stand guard. Should anyone come near I was to protect my Queen’s secret, even if it cost a life,” you say. “One day, as we were returning to Derse, I confessed something to her. All this time, I had this wish, this dream that I was meant to travel to distant lands and experience life! That wish did not align with the Queen’s wishes, so I was unable to leave. That day, I asked for a year. I wanted a year to go out, explore the two kingdoms and their surroundings. She refused. Angered, I leaped from my horse, and threatened to leave on my own terms. I… I was thinking of… Well, I’m not quite sure. I had to get away else my sanity should leave me. She fought back, and it became violent… You all know the rest.” 

You can remember her face when you had said those cursed words to her. 

_“I want to leave Derse.”_

Rage never did befit her fair features; it contorted them into a terrible sight. She struck with a swift flick of the wrist when you hadn’t even raised Caledfwlch a foot high. Scratched at first, and when you’d stepped back in surprise, plunged deep in your side. Blood fell to the ground, staining your hip and hand when you touch the intrusion, touching then her hand. You had cried out, and a look crossed her face. She looked stricken. Eyebrows furrowed, she twisted her wrist and in a feat of great strength, must have broken off the tip. Maybe that was her intention all along. If she could not keep you, Death may as well have you. 

John’s voice snaps you back from your reverie. 

“Right then, Mother, I’ve asked Dave to stay here, and he’s agreed”

“Really? Oh, I’m glad!” Jade claps her hands together. “Oh Dave, you’ll love it here! John can be an ass, but I’m pretty fun, and I’m sure we’ll all be great chums in no time.”

“Ha! You sounds like Pops, with your ‘chums’ and things,” says John amiably. Jade laughs and concedes his point. 

“I suppose it is something he would say," the Lady Jane smiles at her children. She turns to you.

“Have you ever met my late husband? I know you used to visit us, back before…” inquires the Lady.

“I do not remember anyone from that time, my Lady, save for the nursemaid, I am afraid,” you return. “Though I don’t remember her name.”

“Rosa!” John cries, and he grabs your hand from across the table. “You remember Rosa? That’s amazing! She was our nursemaid for many years, and she stayed alive until I was sixteen. A few years before I came of age,” he says, clapping his hands over yours excitedly. 

“What happened to her?” you ask. 

“Oh, after the death of her son… She was rather upset. Rogues supporting the old Skaian Queen had targeted him as an aider of the ‘usurpers’; and he paid the price for his fealty. It was horrible. He had left behind a distraught wife and child, and I’ll bet you know _him_ ,” the Lady explained, and John releases your hand. 

“Karkat! Anyways, Rosa spent the last few years of her life in recluse, visited only by a select few. She refused to see her own grandson, as he reminded her too much of her lost son. She died peacefully, in her sleep. We were all sad to see her go, though not as much as Karkat, and Kanaya, who is the only other descendant of Rosa from Rosa’s mother’s side,” John says, completing his mother’s thought. 

Kanaya… _Maryam_? 

Oh. Fool, what other Kanayas do you know? You had no idea that she was related to the short, ornery medic. The more you know, you suppose. 

“Speaking of Karkles, I was wondering, well. What is he?” you ask.

“You mean his hair and stuff? Oh, that’s just his genetics,” answers Jade with a flippant motion of the hand. 

Lady Jane rises to leave as you say, “No, sorry, I meant his ranks. John, I heard you address him as ‘Commander in Chief’, but then I discover he is a medic? I’ll admit, I am confused.”

John smiles, blue eyes merry. “Oh, see, Karkat is rather important to us here in Prospit. During the War with the Skaian Queen, his father played a huge role in the uprising, which led to the transferal of power from the old Queen to the Four. You know your history, right?”

You nod. In the corner of your eye, you see a flash of cyan as the Lady exits the room, waving to her children. “Official business,” she whispers to Jade as she leaves.

“Right then, you’ve heard of the Sufferer before. He protested the old Queen’s rule by chaining himself by his wrists to a cliff? Well, that’s Karkat’s father. And since he died when we were all, oh, three? Three years old? His ranks fall posthumously to Karkat, though the Soul King knows he tried to shirk them. He underwent medical training instead, and strived to make everyone know he was not his father. So, he’s both high officer and medic!” John explains cheerily. 

“Hm. Thank you for clearing that up,” you say, shifting in your seat. 

The Sufferer’s son, eh? You never knew he even married. The Sufferer is a wonder—the first person to openly object the rule of the Skaian Queen. Gods, this drivel was ingrained into your skull since childhood, histories of the land on which you now reside crammed inside your brain. 

The Skaian Queen was a tyrant, plain and simple. She enforced caste rules, segregating classes of people, leaving those on the bottom to suffer in poverty and discrimination. She allowed cruelties to be enacted upon children to ‘toughen’ them up, which drastically decimated the population. Those left in the country were old, rich and stupid, or old, poor and angry. The Sufferer, this legendary character, began to protest peacefully, travelling around the country with a band of supporters, pleading their case to the lords and ladies of the land. They extended their reach to small surrounding countries as well, seeking aid from the four neighbours of Locah, Lomax, Lopan and Lotak. The young royals of those lands took pity on the poor Skaian citizens, and gave them men and weapons to defeat the Skaian Queen. They succeeded, and the land of Skaia was drawn and quartered between the four nobles, who were just and fair in their own countries. A few marriages later, the countries of Prospit and Derse were born, with Prospit to the East, and Derse to the West. 

Oh gods, history has always been so terribly boring. Because of these battles and strife and unions, you have a reputation to uphold, as Rose would always remind you. Make your parents proud. Like your father was ever proud of anything. You sigh. 

“Dave, you up for a tour of the grounds?” asks John, standing up, scooting back his chair with the backs of his knees. Jade is already by the door, tying up her hair with a strip of cloth. Her grin mirrors her brother's. 

“Why not?” you reply. You stand as well, and follow the cheerful, blue-eyed man and his excitable sister out of the door, and into the sunlight of the courtyard.

**Author's Note:**

> Yoooooo  
> 2nd fic; please forgive me for the first one, if you've read it.  
> I'm going to attempt to finish this one this time, and do a better job with it.  
> I've got a good feeling about this one!!!  
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
